Burnt Sugar
by Namida-sama
Summary: Sakura is a budding pastry artist recommended to a prestigious cooking college by her boss and mentor. She thought she'd never be able to meet the ultra-famous prodigy Sasuke Uchiha, but during her time training at the school, she is noticed by him while he visits. Unfortunately for Sakura, his interest in her isn't as pure and sweet as she would like to believe. AU.
1. Chapter 1

Burnt Sugar

Chocolate-chip Cookie

This is my first Naruto fanfiction, a mostly-light AU.

I mainly stick to Harvest Moon cause it's mostly sandbox-play, the characters are generally bland, and I can do what I want regarding fanfiction, but I meant to branch out a bit with this. There wil time skip, this is just the prologue.

I don't own Naruto or any related characters, locations or terms.

* * *

Sakura didn't feel much like eating that early in the morning, taking her coffee black, skipping even her usual two teaspoons of sugar, at the cafe. Her cellphone lay on the table, the glossy apple-red bright against the too-pale false wood grain. There were two calls she was expecting; one that would be her saving grace and another that would be her downfall.

She had received two bitching-outs from her landlady just that week for skipping out on paying the rent, but she was between jobs at the moment and in no position to pay up unless she skipped a couple meals. Eviction was something Sakura absolutely could not recover from. Fatigued, she rubbed at her face and yawned yet again as she waited for the call, the fresh moisture brightening her vivid green eyes.

To keep some semblance of lucidity, Sakura tapped her ankle against the steel leg of the table and studied closely the crumbs and sugar crystals left by cafe-goers past. Eventually her thoughts melted and warped into dreams, fusing into one another like a plastic container left too long in a microwave on high.

Her peppy, loud ringtone snapped her back into the land of the living rather harshly fifteen minutes later, sending her heart fluttering and racing.

Sakura ran one hand through her candyfloss hair and held her phone to her ear with the other, answering in a weak, breathy voice that stammered. Her hands shook, and she hated herself for a moment.

"H-hello? Sakura speaking."

"Yeah, well... Oh, right. It's Ino from Konoha Cake and Confection. You got the job. Congrats."

Through the phone, the Ino girl sounded as tired as Sakura, or perhaps badly hungover.

Sakura held her breath for a minute, trapping a squeal, responded.

"T-thank you!"

"Sure. Yeah, your training starts on Monday. I wouldn't be late if I were you," Sakura heard the distinct rustling of paper, of a page in a newspaper or magazine being flipped. "'Cause Tsunade's a bitch this early. See you then!"

The girl on the end managed to at least deliver a perky greeting before hanging up. Sakura sat in the little cafe, leaned her head skyward, and breathed a huge sigh of relief. The ceiling tiles were ugly as hell, coarsely textured plaster panels badly water-damaged, but that was alright. The peanut-gallery of staff members were staring at her from under their ugly uniform hats, from behind the coffee machines, as she laughed softly in great relief. That was okay too. Let them think the greasy, young woman who kept laughing to herself, who had been there alone more than an hour and ordered no more than a coffee was nuts.

She was safe. Sakura Haruno had a job, one that hopefully would keep her out of the poorhouse.

She had always loved food, but held a special affinity to sweets. Sakura, even as a child, had begged to try new sweets, candy and pastries, badgered her parents to visit confectionaries and patisseries whenever possible, but her own attempts at sweet-making were never truly successful.

Sakura's candies were too soft or burnt, her cakes too puffy or dense, her caramel always scorched, her custard consistently overcooked. But she could make cookies. Fuckin' good cookies, if she did say so herself.

She suffered through years of the nickname 'Fatty' (even though she wasn't particularly chubby; the name later graduated to fatass throughout highschool) during school for what she loved.

Sakura's improved over time, probably due to the improved motor skills and co-ordination that came with age, but not to her satisfaction. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Haruno were typically inclined to cooking anything fancier than family dinners, and couldn't help her with the fine technique involved in making pastries and candies. Cookbooks were disappointing, trying to build on the basic concepts of the craft, simple knowledge she didn't have.

Cooking school was out of the question. Being a chef was a job with long hours, little pay, her mother used to say. Secretly, Sakura vowed to become famous in the world of all things sugar and prove her wrong.

Although she wasn't close to her goal, what with no job and a cramped, dirty apartment, hopefully the new position would change more than just her housing situation.

Standing in front of the downtown Konoha shop, Sakura inhaled through her nose to calm herself before opening the door. She had tied up her long pink hair into a high ponytail, and had worn simple jeans and a button-up, with her old sneakers, as per instructions.

The interior was modern and bright, perfect for a hip downtown place. L-shaped Black counters fitted with glass cases, the left filled with a plethora of cakes featuring flavours and decorations with everything from plain chocolate to chipotle to candied edible flowers in bright colours. To the right, there was an identical case filled halfway with truffles starring every possible filling. There was also a fridge with a sign taped to it, asking for twenty-four hours' notice on specialty desserts and custards.

The back wall featured a rack of fresh bread and rolls. There were a few elegant glass vases, filled with homemade lollipops in every fruit flavor, their packaging adorned with ribbons.

A cashier stooped by the candy shelf, setting cute cherry confections on a tray inside. Hearing Sakura enter, she stood up quickly, narrowly avoiding smacking her head on one of the narrow purple blown-glass hanging lights.

"You must be Sakura Haruno! I was the one who called you the other day. I'm Ino, Ino Yamanaka."

Her smile was bright, and Sakura smiled back, relieved that she sounded friendlier in real life than she had over the phone that time.

Ino's platinum hair was pulled back like Sakura's, but she had left a few strands down to frame her face.

She managed to make even the sweet-shop's uniform look stylish. The simple black apron over her deep purple shirt brought out the light in her skin and misty-blue eyes, and the whiter tones in her hair. It was offset by a delicate silver star pendant. Sakura felt just a bit frumpy.

"I guess you'll want to see Tsunade, huh? She's in there." Ino waved her off with a smile, and Sakura mumbled a thank you behind her as she

Unbearably nervous, she knocked on a pale purple door labelled Employees Only in elegant periwinkle script. A disheveled woman with a mighty chest stumbled out, and ushered her into the room, which was a plain office featuring a large window. She sat back heavily into a black leather office chair behind her desk, and motioned for Sakura to sit in the chair in front of her. She seemed formidable, even in her slightly rumpled state. She crossed her arms over her titanic breasts and leaned over to survey Sakura.

"Well, I suppose you're Sakura Haruno." The woman's honey-blond hair fell into her face, and she brushed it away.

"I'm Tsunade Senju. Maybe you've heard of me..?" the name was very vaguely familiar, but Sakura, who hadn't watched much television since moving out, didn't recognize it.

Tsunade shot her a surprised glance. "Not even of Jiraiya or that bastard Orochimaru?" _Never_?"

Sakura shook her head, a little bewildered, but noticed how her ochre eyes darkened when she mentioned Orochimaru.

It doesn't matter. Your training begins in ten minutes. You'd better not slack off! We'll start in the kitchens."

"Kitchens? I applied for a position behind the counter, ma'am."

"No, you didn't. That's what it says on the application, but I can see it in your eyes. You want to be a confectioner and pastry artist, don't you? Besides, I already have a cashier."

With that, Tsunade sent her away with a key to the staff room, telling her to put her things anywhere. As she left, Sakura could hear the faint but distinct crack of a fresh bottle of alcohol being opened as the door shut behind her.

Astonished, she sat down in one of the chairs in the staff room, unable to believe her good luck.

* * *

Review if you feel like it. I hope you liked this, and I really want it to be the best it can be, and if there's something you don't like or if something sounds awkward (within reason; grammar, spelling, and plot/character mistakes are fine, but I'm not going to forfeit the basic idea to write something entirely different. If you don't like it, then feel free to skip over, y'know?) go ahead and drop me a message or review to let me know.

Sasuke comes in later.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for all the favourites and alerts for the first chapter!

I had to change the description because, after re-reading it, it really didn't fit the direction I was going at all.

I have made the ages older to match real-life but I've also stuck to canon traits. Sakura is still starting out, carving her place in the world with no particular talent as she was in-canon.

I do not own Naruto or any other terms or brands mentioned in this work of fiction.

This chapter is very late, but please bear with me. Second chapters are a bitch.

* * *

Sakura had been working full-time in the kitchens for only about two months when she first saw _him_.

She had picked up a magazine from the pile on the coffee table in the staff lounge on a warm, dream-slow autumn Thursday, and draped herself over a couch with her candy hair pulled back.

A cell-shaded up-and-coming chef stared moodily out at her from the cover. Sakura ignored him at first glance, thinking wistfully that it might someday be her on that glossy magazine, eventually.

She was much more interested in the recipe section in the back (pumpkin custard and apple tart-tatin, under a section eloquently titled 'Flavours of Fall'), but after chancing another look at the man on the front, she ceased her page-flipping.

Dark, brooding eyes regarded her coolly from a classically beautiful face; none of his features were out of proportion or spaced unevenly. Styled-messy hair hung unevenly in his face, stark black against his paler complexion. He wore a standard, crisp black chef's jacket and brandished a flashy knife in his right hand.

The caption, stylized in bold, dripping red graffiti, read 'Sasuke Uchiha- 'Sweet Violence'. Sakura gave a short grimace, half-amused and half-embarrassed at the title, but intrigued by the handsome man all the same.

She flipped to the advertised page, ignoring Ino as she came bustling in to check her cellphone.

Marvelous towers of cake that defied gravity, giant stalagmites of colorful, twisting sugar brightened the page. Sasuke's creations seemed like the landscape of some dark fantasy world, a land with magic, where you could touch the clouds and taste the cosmos and planets. They seemed completely out-of-place on their display stands, resting on cold steel-and-wood work tables. Sakura thought that they didn't belong on Earth at all.

The text gushed, tabloid-esque, about how he was only nineteen, about his endeavors in international competitions, ranted about his edgy style and unconventional flavours.

There was one chilling snapshot of his mentor, an eccentric but talented sugar artist hailing from Konoha, the very city in which Sakura lived. He looked like a freak.

She was more interested in the images of Sasuke at work…

Pictures of Sasuke's broad back and strong shoulders, bent over great tables of molten candy, sleeves rolled up and muscles flexing as he pulled huge ropes of sugar leapt from the pages of the short feature section. There he was, the culinary prodigy, looking embarrassed and hot-faced, standing beside the too-keen editor who posed girlishly for a photograph. Another, possibly a misprint, of Sasuke's staff in a group shot, bannered the last page. In it, he leaned blurrily out of a supply closet; partly cut-off and flipping the camera the bird.

Her mouth was dry, stuck in an o of awe, and her heartbeat raced a little. This was a true celebrity, someone who she'd only ever be able to drool at and watch from afar.

Ino leaned over the black couch and rested her arm on Sakura's shoulderblade, her long blonde ponytail draping over her chest.

"Oooh. He's pretty hot, y'know."

Without really thinking, she replied,

"I know, isn't he? They're usually, like, thirty and married."

Sakura turned quickly to stare up at the cashier, squinting at her.

"Wait. Weren't you just checking your phone for a text from Kiba?"

"Yeah, but he's... Kiba. Nice and normal Kiba. A girl can always _dream_, Sakura." She didn't like the sly not-quite-smirk on Ino's lips. Having found her cellphone and checked it, the cashier left in a flutter of sugar-crusted black apron and tied-back blonde hair.

Sakura sighed and shut her mouth, trying to slow her heart and staunch the bloodflow to her cheeks as she glanced Sasuke Uchiha over again.

Ino was a bad person to fight with, and revealing interest in someone she had her eye on could be explosive. Sakura had learned that Ino was trustworthy with secrets, but used them as weapons, deadly as any shotgun or knife, in the event of an argument.

Sakura stared critically at her bland reflection in the glass-topped coffee table. Besides the wildly-coloured hair and eyes (they had probably been some in-utero mutation), she had a rather unremarkably pretty face, one that was fresh and pleasant close-up, but wholly Boring from afar.

Her nose was a bit too small for her face, and her forehead was broad and tended to shine when Sakura forgot to wash her face. Her eyes were an uncommon leafy-green and big, but her eyelashes were pale and unnoticeable without makeup.

She was just some roadside daisy compared to Ino, who was surely more of a vibrant rose. Sakura looked at Sasuke again. She really didn't have a chance if Ino decided to send him pictures and 'fan-mail'.

Who could possibly turn down a _real_ beauty like Ino?

Sakura threw her hairnet and apron back on. She had a ball of bread dough in the proofer waiting to be kneaded, and a quadruple-batch of cookies to bake for some catering event.

* * *

Tsunade had broken out the sake earlier than usual that day, for no particular reason at all. It was her secret bottle, the one she kept stashed in her filing cabinet, away from the store manager Shizune's eyes. If she saw her boss drinking this early, she'd give her the timeless, practiced old lecture on maintaining respectable business appearances again.

As she sipped, she supposed, idly, that it was something subconscious, her drinking. Maybe it was Shizune's fault, for putting so much stress on her.

Ah, well.

It wasn't as if she was really willing to give it up or anything. Did that make her an alcoholic?

Tsunade absently took a bite of the morning's first batch of croissants (made by Sakura -a favorite of the early-rising regulars) and grimaced at the taste as it contrasted with the dry flavour of the sake.

She had drive, that Sakura.

Tsunade had seen that she had some raw talent, and could follow instructions, but she was nothing extraordinary, no big star at age nineteen as the Uchiha brat had been.

It was more correct to say that she lacked a specialty, didn't really have a knack for anything.

Of course, that remained to be seen. Maybe with a little experience and guidance, she'd be worth all the bread she'd burned and over-kneaded.

Tsunade rested her face against her fist and resolved not to think about it anymore. It would worsen the hangover she'd have the next day.

She had gotten a letter the other day. How rare, a _real paper letter_ in this day and age, she had thought. But it was the same as every other year; the Fire Country School of Culinary Arts was sending them to every well-known bakery in the nation, looking for talented apprentices to fill their pastry courses.

The last she had heard, Orochimaru was sending his little prodigy, Sasuke, to do demonstrations and lectures for publicity. He was such a bastard. He had been that way ever since they had trained together under Sarutobi.

That 'blood-is-thicker-than-water' attitude of his really pissed Tsunade off, and as much as she disliked his student (Her memories of Sasuke were mostly of him as a moody, whiny greenhorn who was unused to failure or making mistakes), she didn't wish for him to be associated with Orochimaru forever.

But that was how it was with him. She'd seen a countless number of students that had been simply expelled from his tutelage because they either didn't have the raw talent he wanted or couldn't bring themselves to agree to his terms.

She glanced at the photo frame on her desk. She stood, covered in flour, next to a tall, broad young man with long white hair tied back. The third figure had been scribbled out in black Sharpie. Sometimes she wished she could go back in time…

Tsunade turned her attentions back to her sake, and the letter, resting ever-so-innocently on the dark, smooth wood of her desk.


End file.
